Miles et Vox
by Ember Q'wati
Summary: Bucky has been wandering since he left HYDRA, and after landing in the Falcon's nest, adventures with the Avengers follow. A pink fluffy robe, baking, and movie nights at the Tower seem to be on the agenda, but what happens if the Winter Soldier falls in love? What's the plan then?
1. Prologue

_A/N: This is inspired by a headcanon submitted imaginebucky on tumblr._

"Imagine Bucky's metal arm whirring and clicking when he's about to have a panic attack or when he's very stressed so Steve and/or Sam know when to try to talk him through things. On the flip side, imagine Bucky's arm faintly buzzing, almost purring when he's warm and relaxed."

_And this is where the story went for me…_

* * *

It's become part of their routine.

Some days they run in the National Mall, passing the monuments and scattering sleepy birds. Other days they run through Embassy Row, or just wherever they feel like that morning.

They run side by side for a while until Steve has warmed up, pulling ahead of Sam, his dark blue shoes thudding against the pavement in a steady rhythm.

"On your left," Steve passes Sam, and after a few minutes later, again "On your left."

Sam rolls his eyes, but doesn't change his pace.

Afterwards they go back to Sam's place for breakfast; sometimes Steve makes waffles or pancakes, other times Sam makes omelets. Later they go to their day jobs- Steve to SHIELD HQ, Sam to help with his group.

This time is different, their routine is interrupted.


	2. A Improvisa Hospes

_"The Unexpected Guest"_

* * *

"I think we should run the National Zoo route tomorrow," Sam's key chain rattled against the door jamb. "We might even see the lions!"

Sam just smiled and shook his head at Steve's enthusiasm about anything to do with animals. Just last week Sam found Steve crouched in a tree after a run, trying to coax a squirrel to take a peanut from his hand.

The Falcon tossed the keys, where they landed on the table with a clatter.

Opening the fridge, he looked at Steve over his shoulder "I've got breakfast this time, Rogers. How does French toast and bacon sound?"

"Sounds delicious," Steve tossed his phone and notebook next to Sam's keys, before heading towards the hall closet. "I'm going to go take a quick shower," he started pulling his shower stuff together from the shelf Sam gave him. "SHIELD wants me all star-spangled up for a meet-and-greet with…" The water turned on and he pulled the bathroom door shut behind him, effectively quieting Steve's talk about the interviews he had scheduled.

Sam continued pulling together stuff for breakfast. He cracked eggs into a bowl, tossing the shells into the trash before setting the bacon to fry in a pan. But...

_Something's missing, _Sam thought to himself. _It's too quiet- we need some music._

He flipped the bacon and reached for where he had docked his mp3 player the night before - but instead of finding the speakers and player, his hand felt something else - and that "something" was definitely a human leg. A quiet rumbling filled the almost-silent kitchen; Sam yanked his hand away from the leg and spun quickly around, holding the egg-covered whisk aloft like a club.

The rumbling stopped the moment he had pulled his hand away but, as Sam looked into the intruder's blue eyes, a new sound filled the kitchen. A whirring noise - Sam would almost call it an 'irritated' clicking; it was emanating from the intruder's bionic arm.

The stare-down of the Falcon and the Winter Soldier broke as they both jumped, startled by the insistent beeping of a smoke detector. Sam rushed to remove the burning bacon turning off the stove. Bucky Barnes glared at the annoying beeping device for a moment, before drawing a knife and throwing it at the smoke detector - effectively silencing it. The arm was still whirring and clicking away.

"What are you doing, Wilson?" Steve came running into the kitchen, clad only in a towel clasped around his waist, still dripping from the shower. "Trying to burn the house…" His words trailed off as he caught sight of James Barnes sitting on the kitchen counter.

"Bucky?" Steve's voice is almost a whisper, as if just saying the man's name would make him disappear.

"Hiya Steve," Bucky's arm suddenly stopped making noise, but nobody noticed. "Got food for one more?" He ducked his head, hair swinging in front of his eyes as he looked at Steve. That look reminded Sam of a lonesome stray, just looking for a scratch on the head or a scrap of your sandwich.

Steve turned Sam, a question on his lips, but Sam had already started pulling together food for their unexpected guest. Steve smiled, making a mental reminder to thank the man later, before returning to the bathroom to finish getting ready.

When Steve returned, this time clothed in more than just a towel, he started getting plates and juice glasses out of a cupboard and setting them on the table. He set the coffee pot to begin brewing and put the cream and sugar next to the machine, just keeping his hands busy until the food was ready.

Bucky hadn't moved, his eyes following Steve's actions; he was remembering another day, another breakfast, and another pan of burned bacon. That day they weren't in a gleaming kitchen in D.C., but in a shabby apartment in Brooklyn… the day after Steve's mother had died.

* * *

_Steve was frying bacon - as a special treat for Bucky's birthday, but suddenly he sat down with a thud in the middle of the kitchen. Buck__y looked up from his cup of coffee and newspaper to see the scrawny blond holding his knees to his chest and tears pouring down his face. The paper fluttered to the floor as Bucky rushed over to Steve, kneeling and wrapping an arm around Steve's shoulders._

"_Hey, what's up?" Bucky asks and Steve doesn't answer for a minute - just burying his head into the larger man's shoulder._

"_S-she's g-gone, Buck," Steve's muffled voice was occasionally punctuated with quiet sobs. "M-ma's, g-gone; d-doc said it w-was pneumonia." He looked into Bucky's face, eyes glistening. "I t-told her to get it looked at, b-but s-she always s-said it was j-just a cough."_

_Bucky didn't know what to say, so he just held Steve tighter. After that day, Steve was different - quieter, and he didn't laugh as much - but the two friends were just as close._

* * *

Sam put the last slices of French toast on the teetering pile next to stove, and turned off the burner and before putting the pan to soak. Steve poured three cups of coffee and added cream and sugar to two, leaving the third black for Bucky.

The scrape of chairs as Steve and Sam sat down brought Bucky out of his thoughts and he stood by the empty chair next to Steve - hesitant whether or not to sit.

"Hey, man," Sam forked some French toast next to the bacon on his plate. "Feel free to help yourself to some bacon and toast. Syrup and butter are there." He poked his fork at the toppings.

Bucky sat down and looked at Steve and Sam's plates. His half-remembered friend had six pieces of bacon and eight slices of French toast. The Falcon had three pieces of bacon and four slices of French toast. Bucky thought for a minute, compromised, and took five pieces of bacon and six slices of French toast.

Bucky quickly scarfed down the food as if he hadn't eaten in a week-which he hadn't. Steve watched Bucky's rapid eating for a few minutes, before turning to Sam.

"Is this a new recipe?"

Sam nodded, swallowing his food before he replied, "Yeah, I added vanilla and cinnamon - I found it in one of the books you dropped off."

Bucky clean off his plate in mere minutes, and he used the last slice of toast to gather up some remaining syrup. Swallowing the last bite, he looked longingly at the plate of bacon and toast.

Steve noticed Bucky's look and mumbled, his mouth full, "Help yourself to more, Buck. There's plenty of leftovers."

Bucky did, filling his plate with the same amount as before. He began digging into the heaping mound of food with gusto; the rumbling, almost contented purring, noise started again, emanating from his bionic arm.

Steve gave Bucky a confused look, but his pocket vibrated and Steve got distracted. He pulled a phone out and peered at the lit-up screen.

**FURY: MISSION. TRANSPORT IN 2 MINUTES. WILL BE BRIEFED EN-ROUTE.**

Steve looked up, "I've got to go. Work needs me to come in. Sam, can you…?" his eyes flicked to Bucky. The purring from the bionic arm suddenly stopped.

Sam nodded, "Yeah, I understand."

He knew that when Steve said 'work', it meant 'hero stuff'. Usually Sam and his wings would go with the Captain, but Steve wouldn't be able to focus if he didn't know what would happen to Bucky while he was gone. Sam would keep an eye on the Cap's friend - maybe even get him a shower and some clean clothes.

Steve tapped away at the phone for a moment, then stood and grabbed one more piece of French toast and his coat before walking out and slamming the door behind him; the arm whirred irritably.

**ROGERS: WHO'S TRANSPORTING?**

**FURY: BLACK WIDOW AND IRON MAN**

**STARK: GET READY FOR A FLY-BY.**

**ROGERS: WHAT'S THAT SUPPOSED TO MEBKL;**

Steve let out a surprised yell - a scarlet and gold-colored robot had grabbed the back of his t-shirt and lifted off, rocketing skyward.

Steve looked over his shoulder, and seeing who it was, he rolled his eyes and let out a sigh, just waiting for his surprise 'fly by' to land. A hovering jet was waiting for them, and the red-haired pilot had pushed a button, opening a hatch for the pair to enter through. Once they were on board, she closed the hatch and took off towards their mission.

"Stark," Steve rounded on the robot after he was down. "What was that for?"

Tony Stark lifted the front of his gold-colored helmet and smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, Cap. We're in a hurry, and it was easier than trying to land the jet."

Steve's phone was buzzing in his pocket again, and he glared at the billionaire for another minute before replying to the message.

**FURY: STARK, THIS IS A SECURE CHANNEL.**

**STARK: **_**WAS**_** A SECURE CHANNEL.**

**FURY: I SEE THAT NOW. CAP - WHAT WAS THAT LAST BIT?**

**ROGERS: I WAS ASKING WHAT STARK MEANT. I GOT MY ANSWER.**

**FURY: GET ON WITH YOUR MISSION. FURY OUT.**

"So, Nat - what is our mission?" Steve sat in the cockpit, next to the assassin.

"Suit up first, Cap," Natasha pointed to the rear of the jet. "It's in your locker."

As Steve left, Tony took the opportunity to take the now-vacant seat.

* * *

Sam started clearing off the table, stacking plates and putting them next to the sink. He turned on the tap and the sink began to fill with hot, soapy water. Turning around to gather up the rest of the dishes, Sam bumped into Bucky's very solid body.

Sticky knives and forks clattered to the floor, a coffee mug tumbled down after them, shattering on the linoleum. Bucky's half-empty coffee cup sloshed liquid across his shirt, adding to the plethora of stains. The pair looked into each other's eyes, just standing there among the mess, until Bucky spoke.

"Sorry," He reached around Sam to put his now empty cup on the counter. "I'll clean it up."

Bucky crouched down and began picking up the silverware.

"I'll get a broom," Sam went to the cleaning closet.

When he returned with the broom, Bucky had picked up the silverware and had started gathering the pieces of the shattered mug.

"Wait," Sam put a hand on Bucky's shoulder to stop him. "You're bleeding."

"'S nothing," Bucky mumbled, ignoring the steady trickle of blood across his palm.

Sam grabbed Bucky's wrist, and causing him to stiffen; his arm whirred.

"We can clean up the mug later," He helped the bleeding man to his feet. "Let's get your hand cleaned up first." He pulled Bucky along, who resisted at first, but eventually followed the Falcon to the bathroom.

After Sam cleaned the cut and bandaged it, he gave the man sitting on his toilet an once-over look. The Falcon leaned against the wall, deciding something before sighing.

"When's the last time you got a shower?"

Bucky shrugged.

"Too long ago, probably," Sam pointed to the stained shirt and ripped pants. "You also need some clean clothes."

Sam pulled a towel, some wash cloths, and a ridiculously bright, pink, fluffy robe out of the hall closet. Bucky gave him an odd look about that last item and Sam sighed again.

"It was a gift from my sister, as a joke." He hung the robe and towel up, putting the wash cloths into the shower itself.

"I'm going to run to the store and get you some new clothes, anything in particular you want?"

Bucky shrugged.

"Okay…. I'm also going to pick up some food. I'll be back in an hour."

Bucky nods.

"Just dump your clothes in the corner and wear the robe when you're done, you can watch some TV or listen to some music after you finish your shower."

Sam goes to shut the door and leave, but he turns back to ask one more question.

"Do you need help with your arm?"

Bucky hesitated before shaking his head.

Sam closed the door, not saying anything else.

Bucky sat on the toilet for a few minutes more, his arms wrapped around himself protectively. He listened to the sounds of the front door slamming and Sam's car driving away. Eventually he stood and removed his shirt and chest-guard before looking at himself in the mirror.

_Why is he doing this? He doesn't owe me anything… but maybe he did it just because Steve asked…_

He shook off the thoughts, turning his mind instead at the task at hand. He _was_ really grimy, but hadn't noticed it before, when he was… _that._ He turned away from the mirror, avoiding his looking at the scarred area where his flesh met the titanium arm - as he always had.

Bucky stripped off the rest of his clothes and tossed them in the corner as Sam had instructed. He stepped into the shower and turned on the water, allowing the hot water pour across his back. He watched as layers of dirt and grime rinsed off and swirled down the drain.

_I should get a haircut._

Bucky scrubbed his scalp and hair with the shampoo from one of the many bottles on the shelf.

_The Falcon or Steve probably could show me a good place to get it done. _

He held a bottle of conditioner in his hand for a moment before deciding to go ahead and use it. His hair cleaned and rinsed, Bucky grabbed a wash cloth and began to wash his shoulders and chest.

Sam fumbled with the keys, trying not to drop the bags of groceries stacked on his arms. He eventually got the door open and saw a scene that made him smile. Bucky was in the squashy recliner, his legs draped over one of the arm rests. His hair was still damp and tousled from the shower, and Bucky up in that ridiculous pink robe and snoring lightly.

Sam set the groceries down before carefully tucking a blanket around the sleeping man. Giving Bucky another smile, Sam went to put his shopping away and start making lunch for his visitor. Maybe he would make some tiramisu; Sam thought he remembered Steve saying that it was one of Bucky's favorites.

* * *

A/N: Fun Fact - Tiramisu is actually Sebastian Stan's favorite food.


	3. Mutato- Pro Meliori

_A/N: Sorry for the long wait, life has kept me busy!_

* * *

Sam was chopping vegetables for dinner when he heard Bucky stirring in the living room, stretching and rubbing his eyes sleepily. Bucky padded into the kitchen, his bare feet barely making a sound on the cold linoleum floor.

"Hey," Sam paused his chopping to dump the potatoes and carrots into a crock-pot. "How was your nap?"

"Good," Bucky sat at the table watching Sam cook. "I was wondering…" he hesitated, his voice low.

"Wondering what?" Sam took the chair opposite the other man.

"I was wondering if there was somewhere, around here," he idly traced the wood-grain pattern with his right hand. "That I could get my hair cut, or at least trimmed."

"Sure," Sam pulled his phone out, already searching for nearby places.

"But," Bucky hesitated again. "I don't have any money..."

"It's okay," Sam waved his hand dismissively. "I'll cover it."

"I'll work to pay you back, cleaning and stuff like that. I also owe you for the food and clothes you got me."

Sam looked up and stood suddenly. "I almost forgot," he pulled out several bags from various stores. "I got you some jeans and stuff, to help you out for a bit."

Sam dumped the bags upside-down over the table and clothes slid out haphazardly into piles. The two men began sorting and folding the items - jeans in one area, shirts in another, and so on.

Bucky pulled a dark shirt aside, letting the soft fabric run through his hand. Grabbing a pair of jeans at random, he muttered a quick "Thanks…" before darting into the bathroom to change, his arm whirring as he went.

Sam sighed and continued folding the clothes, pushing them to one end of the table, before returning for dinner preparations.

* * *

Bucky pulled the t-shirt over his head before analyzing his reflection; the jeans were a nice change from military-issued cargo pants. He looked at the other things he had inadvertently grabbed when he rushed out - a comb, a razor, some hair-ties, and mouthwash. Setting the razor and mouthwash aside, Bucky began combing his hair out of his face and eyes. It took several tries before he was able to gather his hair together enough to clumsily wrap a hair-tie around it.

A knock on the door made Bucky jump, dislodging the hair-tie which flew to some unknown corner of the bathroom.

"Hey, Barnes?" Sam rapped on the door again. The arm gave a particularly angry whirr. "You okay in there?"

"Yeah."

"Okay," Sam didn't seem convinced as the arm continued to make noise. "Whenever you're done, I want to show you where you can put your stuff while you're here."

The sound of Sam's steps faded as he walked back to kitchen. Bucky gathered his hair up again and was able to wrangle it into a serviceable, albeit messy, ponytail. He hung the robe on a hook and went to join Sam in the kitchen.

Sam was listening to music as he worked, singing along as he mixed spices for the pot roast. Bucky cleared his throat and Sam stopped singing, turning around to face Bucky.

"I've left the bags out," Sam pointed to them. "In case you wanted to use them for your stuff. I can show you that room now, if you want."

Bucky nodded, and then followed Sam to the small office; there was a couch set opposite to a well-used desk. The couch already had sheets placed at one end with a couple of pillows.

"You can either sleep on the couch like this, or it folds out into a bed - if you want."

Bucky nodded again before returning to the kitchen to carefully place Sam's purchases into the bags. He carried them to the room, setting them next to the couch; he curiously tried to figure out where a handle might be - lifting it up and looking underneath the cushions he saw the handle under the center cushion, and he gave it an experimental tug.

Cushions, sheets, and pillows flew as the bed suddenly unfolded from the couch. Bucky blushed and hurried to gather up the scattered bedclothes, making a mental note that this sleeper sofa wasn't stiff and rusty; it didn't need much for it to unfold.

Another memory floated to the surface…

* * *

_Bucky was sharing an apartment with Steve, partly to save money, but also to keep Steve out of trouble. Just last week, Steve had gotten roughed up on three separate occasions._

_They had only a few furnishings to start out with, but one day after Bucky got home from work Steve was waiting excitedly by the door. He eagerly showed Bucky what he had found - a sleeper sofa. It had been left by a tenant that had vacated a neighboring apartment and Steve had found it and snatched it up._

_The hinges and joints of the folded bed were stiff with age and disuse, only unfolding after much tugging and pulling from Bucky. They left it unfolded, the hassle of trying to put it back, but it wasn't worth the time or effort. _

* * *

Bucky put the sheets on the sofa-bed, folding down the top sheet before laying the blanket across the foot of the mattress. The familiar routine of making a bed soothed him and his arm quieted.

* * *

A few days later, Bucky sat at the kitchen table, eating a bowl cereal (that was clearly not healthy, with all of those colorful marshmallows floating around) and doing a puzzle from the newspaper. He could hear Sam and Steve talking in hushed tones in the living room.

"I don't know how much longer he can stay here," that was Sam. "I can tell he's restless and wants to move on or just do something - other than sit around reading the paper and listen to the radio."

"I understand," Steve sat down on the couch. "I've talked with Tony, and he's willing to let him stay at the tower if he wants. Nat and Bruce stay there, and Clint's there a lot too."

The couch springs creaked and the pair walked to the kitchen. Bucky ate his cereal and worked on the Sudoku, acting as if he hadn't been listening to the discussion.

"I know you were listening," Steve sat across from Bucky, "So there's no need to pretend."

Bucky filled in the last numbers of his puzzle, a four and a seven, before looking up at Steve.

"I like the idea," he folded the paper back into its original state. "I've gotten a bit stir-crazy hanging around here. It'd be nice to get out for a bit, thanks for your hospitality though, Sam."

He stood, leaving the paper on the table and rinsing his cereal bowl before putting into the dishwasher. Shutting the door, he went to "his" room and packed up his stuff, stripping the bed and folding the sleeper sofa.

* * *

Bucky stepped out of the car into a spacious garage, he looked around at the parked cars. A few of them had covers on them and he even though he saw a military-grade armored car. Steve pushed a button to call an elevator, and the pair stepped into its sleek metal interior.

A disembodied voice made Bucky jump, "Good afternoon Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes, Mr. Stark is expecting you. He is waiting in the kitchen along with Ms. Potts, Ms. Romanoff, and Dr. Banner."

"Thanks J.A.R.V.I.S." Steve began to explain about the A.I. when the doors slid open and Clint stepped into the elevator.

Bucky stiffened, and his arm began whirring and clicking.

Clint gave the elevator floor a dubious look before turning to Steve, "You think with all of his tech 'genius', Stark would be able to fix that sort of thing. It sounds like something is about to break." He turned to Bucky and extended his hand, "Clint Barton, a.k.a. Hawkeye." Bucky tentatively took the sharpshooter's hand and stiffly shook it.

"James Barnes"

The doors to the elevator slid open again, and this time they had reached their destination. A group of people sat around a kitchen table. Bucky looked at the different faces, a look of shock passed over his. He recognized some of them, now that he saw them in person instead of on the screen of Sam or Steve's phone.

A man with a goatee, who looked mildly familiar, as if Bucky had met one of his relatives, stood to greet them.

"Tony Stark," He shook Bucky's hand before pointing out the different people seated with him. "That's Pepper Potts, Bruce Banner, Natasha Romanoff, and it looks like you already met Clint on your way up."

Bucky nodded to each of them as Tony introduced them.

"So, Buck," Steve clapped a hand to Bucky's shoulder, causing him to stiffen, "Do you want a tour? Or do you want to get some lunch? Or we could just sit and talk."

Bucky hesitated, unsure with all the stares from the gathered Avengers (and Pepper). "A tour would be fine." He shifted the grip on the bags in his hand, "If I could put these somewhere, it'd be nice."

* * *

Tony lead Bucky around the floors of the tower pointing out interesting and important features, Steve trailing behind them - almost like an eager and excitable puppy.

"There's the gym," Tony pushes the door open for a brief glimpse of various weights and machines. "It's open all the time, so you can stop by anytime you want to work out, clear your mind, or whatever."

"Laundry room." The steady rattle and sloshing of machines floated through the door.

"Coffee bar and reading nook," Comfortable-looking chairs were tucked into the small alcove.

"Library," Bucky stopped, awed by the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.

"And your room," Tony let Bucky open the door to see his new home.

Someone had painted the room in a myriad of colors, layered in a gradient pattern that reminded Bucky of a sunrise. Dark purples lightened to pale blues, greens, yellows, oranges, reds, and colors that he didn't think even had a name. A large window overlooked the cityscape, the bustling cars and people below looking like insects.

Steve set Bucky's bags on the dresser and quietly exited the room, letting his friend get settled in. Tony soon followed, tossing a quiet "If you need anything, just ask J.A.R.V.I.S." over his shoulder before pulling the door shut.

* * *

Bucky had put his small collection of clothes into the dresser and was now standing in front of the large mirror that was hanging on the inside of his closet, playing with his hair. He tried to figure out a better way to put it up and out of his face, but a small ponytail was the best he could manage.

"Sergeant Barnes," the robotic voice of J.A.R.V.I.S. made Bucky jump again. "Might I suggest styling your hair like this?"

Step-by-step instructions on how to put his hair into a bun appeared on the surface of the mirror. Bucky's eyes widened in surprise, he tentatively thanked the disembodied voice of the A.I. and began to follow the steps.

He had just finished fixing his hair, proudly examining the messy bun, when a knock on the door interrupted his musings. Bucky opened the door slightly to see Natasha standing there, holding her purse and waiting for him.

"Hey," the Russian tucked her phone into a pocket, "Sam and Steve had said that you were looking for someplace to get your haircut?"

Bucky nods, mumbling "Sam said he knew someplace I could go."

"I've seen the place he was thinking about," She smiles wryly. "You wouldn't want to go there, they specialize in military-style buzz cuts… in fact that's the only thing they do."

She gestures for him to follow, and he does. Stark and Steve tagged along, wanting to give their opinions.

* * *

"C'mon," Tony cajoled, "A teal streak would be awesome."

James rolled his eyes, "It's still a 'no', Stark. But thanks for the idea."

He had missed this, the camaraderie, joking around with people and just having a good time. James smiled at Steve, who was lounging in an empty stylist's chair.

Steve smiled back, it was good to see Bucky like this, and it gave him hope for Bucky's future. One thing that worried Steve was that Bucky insisted he be called James instead of his childhood nickname, the only name Steve had really known him by. Sam had said that sometimes nicknames cause flashbacks and reminders of trauma in people with PTSD, and calling James 'Bucky' could be triggering certain memories.

"What do you think, James?" The hair stylist spun him around to let him look at his new cut.

The back was short, but the bangs were left longer, rakishly flopping over his eyes. He pushed the strands out of his eyes before replying.

"I like it. Um…" James looked at her name tag, "Thanks, Anna." He looked to his companions for their reactions.

Steve gave him a thumbs-up, Natasha just smiled, but Tony walked around him - observing from all angles.

"It has a sort of, a…" He rested his chin in his hand as he tried to find the right words. Tony snapped his fingers, "A sort of 'Romanian-to-Austrian' vibe, it looks good..." He awkwardly trailed off.

Steve stood and broke the awkward silence, clearing his throat. "Okay, let's go pay Anna so she can get to her next customer, and we can get on with our trip."

Natasha pulled James after her, in pursuit of a sale on shirts, two stores down. Steve stayed with Tony, who paid without being asked - as he would do at their next few stops and when they had lunch. Steve clapped a hand on Tony's shoulder in a silent 'thank you', and he smiled and nodded in response, putting his wallet back into his pocket.

* * *

_A/N: Thanks for reading so far, please let me know what you think of it!_


End file.
